


And I Need You

by Apple_Fairy



Category: Corpse Party (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Platonic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1647974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apple_Fairy/pseuds/Apple_Fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Morishige and Mayu before the Sachiko charm. A simple story of a boy and a girl who mean so much more to each other then they'll ever know. A relationship that was so understanding, it only made the tragedy all the more painful. Platonic friendship, lots of sweet feelings</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Need You

**Author's Note:**

> After falling back in love with these characters, I wanted to write a fic where I could place all my headcanons in. Something I wrote with a lot of love for these two.

His cell phone rings at 10:00 PM just before he heads to bed. When he sees it’s Mayu, Morishige immediately answers and she’s crying.

“Shige-nii,” she sobs out quietly, “they’re fighting again.”

Morishige curses her parents then; even late into the night? He’s angry at them, but he never tells her. Instead, he asks is she can hear them through the walls. He asks if they’re forcing her to get involved again. He tries to keep her grounded.

“No…” she sniffles, “But they’re so _loud_.”

He stays up well into the night then, and talks the most he’s ever had to. Sometimes it’s about her parents. Sometimes he lets her talk about how she feels so tense, so anxious, so unbearably uneasy in that broken home. (Her stomach is hurting again, like there’s sewing needles pricking every part of it. She feels she will throw up from all the stress).

But mostly, he tries to get her mind off of it because that’s what she needs and that’s what helps the most. He talks about school; he gives his opinion when he’d otherwise stay silent. And she listens, just as he patiently listens to her every time they’re together.

If it wasn’t so late he would’ve gotten on his bike and gone over there and picked her up. Take her wherever she wanted to go and treated. As long as he got her out of the house.

But right now he gets her out of the moment and that’s enough.

He’s gotten her from tears to laughter in an hour and a half. She likes his deadpan humor; she likes his reaction to her teasing.

She tells him they stopped a while ago. She tells him thank you. He never knows what to say when she says that so he just asks her if she wants to go to bed.

She says no, because she wants to talk more. But she says she should because it’s so late.

He promises they can talk tomorrow.

And they do.

* * *

Morishige dislikes the theatre club because he doesn’t believe they’re serious enough there. There was drive, of course, but there was also a lot of socializing. And try as he might, he could never get into their fold, and so he thought he could make it up with hard work.

It was never enough for them however.

Morishige likes to watch old black-and-white films and gushes over the beauty and the raw emotion. He marvels at professional plays and their passion and fervor. He idolizes these people, and if people asked him about it, he would never stop talking about his favorites, about how this was done right, how that production needed a little bit more of this added.

But people his age never wanted to hear this. They couldn’t get it, and he felt a gap then. Or perhaps he was born in the wrong place. Morishige longed for places further away, something bigger than a mundane Japanese town.

Either way, he never felt he belonged and he wished he was a bit more average.

But Mayu wants to hear everything.

Morishige likes her because she never wanted him to be average. She didn’t want him to change, and she wanted the person he was now to talk about everything he’s always wanted to say.

Every Sunday she comes over and watches old films with him. They admire it together, and when it’s done, they talk about this and that.

He doesn’t mind when she talks about the mundane things either. Because it feels more equal; she doesn’t shut up his words with her own interests. She lets them coincide and for once Morishige feels like he’s right where he should be.

* * *

 

When they go out, she always leads and he always follows. Their classmates find it funny that their small and sweet Mayu could be so in control of this pouting boy. She’s interested in all the cute things; they go to new bakeries together. She takes him clothes shopping, and wonders aloud why all the adorable things she wants to buy are still too big for her tiny frame. She buys new fabrics to sew things with, for herself and the theatre club.

She forces him into a dressing room of his at some point saying he needed something new. And he pouts, and is red-faced, always prideful to the end. But it’s her; so he does.

(Besides, he liked how she always made sure he was included).

They don’t hold hands.

There have been many storekeepers and waiters and waitresses who assume it: “Is this your girlfriend?”

Morishige doesn’t blush, or get flustered, or doesn’t feel secretly pleased with the idea. He only frowns and says no. He doesn’t like that assumption. It’s not that he’s insulted by it, but there’s a small part of him that finds that assumption so shallow that it’s rude. He likes Mayu; that doesn’t mean he has to love her though. He hates the idea that that is the only option he has if he likes her.

No, instead his favorite is: “Is this your sister?”

And sometimes, he says yes.

And Mayu always smiles.

* * *

 

For her birthday, he uncovers for her an expensive and grand sewing machine. When her eyes widened and sparkled at the sight, Morishige knew all that saving up, and even asking his grandfather for some money, was all worth it.

In the following days, when they hang out in her room (and they didn’t care about the social stigma then, because the world couldn’t understand), he lets her work on it as he reads his script. The mechanical sewing sound of it fills the room, and it’s comforting like cicadas in summer.

He likes to see her at work. There are fashion sketches pinned up in her room, various ideas, and her desk is filled with spools of thread and adorable pincushions she’s made herself.

When she’s done, she’s removes the dress she was working on with a flourish. It’s not for the club; it’s for her. Its floral print is cheery in the sunlight.

She asks him how it looks, holds it up to her body.

He smiles faintly, and that’s all she needed.

* * *

 

It was never grandiose or too much, and that’s how Morishige liked it. He was too wary of normal interactions to get used to anything else.

It was the moments when she would use him as a model for her new costume designs. It was the way she measured him, and made sure to not prick him with a needle. It was the time she bought him a theatre poster for _Crime and Punishment_ for his birthday. She knew he loved tragedies the most.

(It’s given alongside the Valentine’s Day chocolate which is more elaborate. He is flustered inwardly, but doesn’t show it.)

It was the time she embroidered roses on the cleaning wipe for his glasses. The way she smiled at her own handiwork and grinned when he shyly thanked her.

It wasn’t too overbearing. It didn’t feel self-serving. It didn’t ask permission to come in, or didn’t feel addled with formalities. It was just there, and it was endless, and it was perfect.

There is a part of him that wishes he could give the same. He never asked, however, so he assumed she subconsciously needed more.

(And that’s where the true tragedy lied.)

* * *

 

She knows, and she’s the only person he’s allowed to know. Morishige still doesn’t know if he will ever tell the world, or keep it locked up tight forever. He feels like it’s a death sentence; he’s already unpopular. Why pour salt on the wound?

But he likes how she’s supportive. They’re in front of a café, drinking iced coffee outside. She’s trying the new menu item, a delicious looking fruit tart in front of her. Fork poised above, her eyes are resting on a young looking man reading a book on a bench.

“Him?” she whispers, trying not to smile, “How about him?”

Morishige glances over. Looks him over. Looks away, embarrassed, never sure how to respond in these moments.

(He likes the idea of pretending he can indulge in this. He hates the crashing reminder afterwards he can’t.)

“No,” he whispers back, “I told you; I like someone who’s mature.”

* * *

 

She calls him over with urgency one afternoon, and it’s then they get the news.

“My father is being relocated.”

His breath stops.

“I’m transferring to a different school.”

He feels like his world is falling underneath him. Outside, he hears the sound of children playing, of a car driving past. It feels so surreal that the world kept turning, despite this horrible news between them. Mayu is holding back tears as she sits across from him, eyes downcast, as if she couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye.

Morishige feels he will pass out. He feels like this is all a horrible dream. There is a twinge of anger beneath the surface that is aimed at her parents. He’s always mad at her parents. He doesn’t know how such a good person could be handled so poorly. He tries to steady himself regardless, with facts and simple questions.

“When?” he asks weakly.

“After the culture festival. That will be my last day, they decided.”

It just wasn’t fair, he seethed. This wasn’t fair to her; just because her parents couldn’t keep it together, she had to suffer for it. But Morishige knew he had to be honest with himself too:

This just wasn’t fair to him, either.

There was a long silence, but this was understood between them. It was only uncomfortable because of the subject, not because it was them.

“We can always call each other.” He offers weakly, “We’ll stay in touch.”

She nods, but they know it’s not just that. There’s more to it than that; it always is between them. Morishige doesn’t rant about the situation then. He doesn’t get mad; it’s not his way. Instead they share the sadness together. There’s no solution, but there is company.

“Have you told anyone else yet?” He asks quietly, and she shakes her head.

“I wanted you to know first.”

She begins to cry then, and for the first time, he cries in front of her. Getting up, he reaches out to her, and she returns that. Physically, it’s the closest they’ve ever been.

They don’t talk for the longest time, and to be honest, they didn’t need to.

* * *

 

When Ayumi had suggested everyone chip in to buy Mayu a bouquet before she leaves, she didn’t expect to get the full amount from Morishige himself.

She stares down at the thick envelope of money he had handed her. She looks back up at him, shocked, not knowing what to say.

“Please buy her pink roses.” He simply tells her, “They’re her favorite.”

He walks off, without another word.

* * *

 

During the school festival, he’s busy helping with everyone else. Every time he passes by her, however, she stops to smile at him. He doesn’t smile back, but she understands.

He wishes they could have a moment longer. Something. But there wasn’t time, there was so much work, and she had so many other friends.

He has so many words in his head, but he wouldn’t know where to start. There’s just a dull ache in his chest that resonates with the thought _if only I had a bit longer._

He doesn’t think twice when he’s presented the charm. It’s for Mayu. It’s cheap and he doesn’t believe in it, but it’s something.

When he grips the paper, he thinks he’s doing the right thing.

* * *

 

Morishige finds solace in a horrid mess of organs smeared on the wall.

* * *

 

He hears her voice for the last time in a way he never wanted to.

And he is sorry.

He is so painfully sorry.

(Truthfully, she would’ve forgiven him.)

(But at this point, it’s already too late: he’s no longer the boy she loved just as she’s no longer the girl he needed.)

**Author's Note:**

> That's it! Thank you for reading!


End file.
